


A Sandwich Story

by Rachael Sabotini (wickedwords)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M, Worst-Case Scenario Challenge, any excuse for sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-28
Updated: 2005-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 21:38:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4893235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedwords/pseuds/Rachael%20Sabotini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How to make the perfect Turkey Sandwich, by John Sheppard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sandwich Story

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to sherrold and chelle for doing the beta on this. This story was crafted as part of slodwick's Worst Case Scenario challenge . (specific challenge listed at the end of the post)

Lying in bed, idly stroking his erection, John thought to himself: You know, a turkey sandwich would taste really good right now. One of those where the turkey's been slow-roasted and basted with butter, where someone went through the time and effort of cutting up the butter cubes and sticking it under the skin, so it all melted evenly into the meat. Soft white bread, the kind that was really bad for you, maybe a little mustard and some Miracle Whip.

Oh, yeah, and lettuce. And a tomato. The trip by Daedalus was too long for any sort of fresh produce to survive, so they had to make do with what was grown in hydroponics. John had kinda gotten used to the way the blue tomatoes tasted, a little sweeter than the red kinds on earth. 

But fresh bread and fresh turkey...god, he wanted that sandwich now. 

His idle stroking became a little more firm, and he reached down to cup one of his balls. Oh, yeah, he could get into that. Sex and a real turkey sandwich — 

His radio crackled. "Major Sheppard?" 

Oh, shit. Elizabeth. He grabbed his headset, putting it on as he pressed the button to speak. "Yeah, go ahead." 

"We have a situation in the jumper bay. Apparently, there was some trouble with removing the second nuke from jumper 2." 

His lips twisted into a half-smile. "We're not gonna die, are we?" He really didn't want to move unless imminent death was involved, and even that was questionable. 

"No, the nuke was de-activated before any attempts at removal, but Dr. Zelenka wants to verify that the ding that the jumper received when the casing fell has affected none of the systems." 

"Can't we do that in the morning?" 

"Major—" 

"Fine, yeah. Tell him I'll be right on it. Sheppard out." With a sigh, John pulled on his pants, black T-shirt, and uniform jacket. Looks like there was gonna be no turkey sandwich for him tonight. 

* * *

If he hadn't run into Rodney, maybe nothing would have happened. 

"You know that they can bring turkey back on the Daedalus, don't you?" Rodney took a huge bite of the largest sandwich John had ever seen in Atlantis. Yeah, it was that heavy, dark-brown Athosian bread, but there must have been 12 different kinds of cheese on it, and wow, that looked like fresh roast beef, and— Hey! That was an onion slice at the edge of Rodney's mouth, right next to a little splash of mustard. 

"You got something right here." John helpfully tapped the corner of his lip to illustrate. 

"Oh, sorry." Rodney swiped across the space with his finger, looked at it, and then started sucking the mustard and mayo from his fingers in a very pornographic way, making incredibly rude and exuberant noises while he did so. He glanced up when he was done. "Best sandwich ever." 

"Major, I brought you one as well." Radek handed him a thin half-slice of dark brown bread with some sort of nut butter smeared on it; Radek also had one for himself. "Rodney ate the last of the cheese. And the meat." Radek glared at Rodney, and Rodney waved the remains of his sandwich like a scepter. 

"There will be more. The Daedalus can bring back anything." With a contented sigh, he popped the last bit of sandwich in his mouth, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back against the wall. "Absolutely anything." 

* * *

The next day John put in an order — 1 frozen free-range turkey, 16 pounds. 1 pound of butter, frozen. Salt. Pepper. Mustard. Miracle Whip. And Pepperidge Farms frozen bread dough, enough for a loaf of home-baked white bread. 

* * *

Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard had everything well in hand. It took a couple of days, but Rodney and Radek had managed to get one of the Atlantean versions of an oven working in the common room next to John's quarters. 'course, he had to cut them both in for a share of the turkey, but at sixteen pounds, John figured he had enough to share. 

Zelenka had brought a couple bottles of pretty nice wine, and Rodney brought real beer. When they finished those, they started on the not-as-good bottles of Athosian pisswater, which still tasted better than American beer. 

While they drank, John attended to the turkey, basting the thing every half-hour to make sure it didn't dry out. Rodney bumped his arms a couple of times demonstrating great hockey plays to Radek, who snorted and waved them away dismissively; Radek really preferred basketball. Radek tried to explain it to John once — John had the impression that some sixteenth cousin seven times removed was once scouted by the NBA — but it never really made sense. John kept glancing at the two of them and silently laughing — only not so silently at times. 

The grease got everywhere over the bottom of the oven, and staring at it, John mentally shrugged. Like most of Atlantis, it was probably self-cleaning, or Rodney and Radek could work on that when the two of them sobered up. 

Radek was standing now, his arms waving wildly as he demonstrated the precision required for a good free-throw. John tried to interrupt him once, and got four hands flapping at him like an entire flock of crows, telling him to shut up. 

John finished off his beer, setting the bottle down to join the dozen others. "How about we pick a sport we can all appreciate?" 

"Like American football?" Radek snorted. 

"No, like—" John held up his index finger. "Like beach volleyball. You ever seen beach volleyball, Radek?" 

Eyes wide, Radek nodded. "In Antarctica, we got ESPN 2." 

"As did we." He looked at Rodney, who was apparently blissing out 

John went to check on the turkey again, but this time when John opened the door a thick black smoke billowed out, and he could see flames underneath. "Oh fucking crap," he said calmly, and shut the door. With a casual flick of his wrist, Rodney was up out of his chair, and switching the power off , while Zelenka reached over and hit a button for the air scrubbers, kicking the ventilation unit into high. 

Disaster averted, the three stared at each other, and Rodney finally spoke the words none of them really wanted to say. "Do you think it'll still be edible after this?" 

"Should not be a problem," Radek said, shoving his glasses back up his nose. "I have eaten many burned foods in my life, and am willing to cut off the worst of the char." He ducked his head conspiratorially. "My grandfather would cook Sunday dinner, and he never learned how to set the oven to anything other than broil or high." 

"Sounds like my dad's barbecues." John nodded firmly, and joggled Rodney with his shoulder. "Think of it as barbecue." 

"Barbecue." Rodney lifted his chin. "It can't be worse than that green slop from MJ5-989." 

"Or one of the so-called chef's surprises." Radek added and they all shuddered at that. 

* * *

"That is some damn fine turkey," John said as he slid the remains into the fridge. "And tomorrow, more sandwiches." 

"Sandwiches..." said Rodney, his eyes dreamy and unfocused. 

He looked too damn good to pass up, so John leaned over and kissed Rodney, sliding his hand around the back of Rodney's neck. He tasted of beer and turkey and mustard and bread — Rodney wasn't a fan of Miracle Whip — and his mouth was warm and smooth and wet. Eager. Welcoming. Rodney's hands fisted his hair, pulling the two of them in tighter, and John went with that. God, it felt so great to be pressed up against Rodney. There was a strangled noise, and John looked up. 

Radek was staring at the two of them, his eyes wide, sweat beading his forehead under his mass of unruly hair. He said nothing, his eyes darting from John to Rodney and back again, before giving John a tentative smile. 

So for the hell of it, John kissed Radek as well. 

* * *

On the floor, in a pile made from discarded clothing and dishtowels, Radek lay curled up against John's left side while Rodney lay on his right, both of them naked and sound asleep. Moving as smoothly as possible, John turned slightly and grabbed the nearby plate, pulling it toward him carefully; he didn't want to wake anyone yet. 

Biting into the soft white bread, John stared up at the ceiling and smiled. Sex and a turkey sandwich. It just didn't get better than that. 

**Author's Note:**

> I lucked out with this one. Seriously. I got "How to Extinguish a Burning Turkey", and things just kinda went from there.


End file.
